Page 61 of The Duke's Jilted Bride

“Not here,” he murmured. “Not the right time.”

Their eyes met, a current of awareness passing between them. Memories of their encounter in the kitchen flooded back—her taste, her scent, the soft sounds she had made as pleasure overtook her. With reluctance, he lifted her hand from his thigh, returning it to her lap.

The remainder of the dinner felt interminable. When at last the ladies withdrew, leaving the gentlemen to their port, Rowan found himself watching the doorway through which Selina had disappeared.

The Duke of Emberford settled into the chair beside him. “Your duchess is quite charming. Georgiana speaks very highly of her.”

“She is… remarkable,” Rowan acknowledged, the admission coming easier than expected.

“Marriage can be a surprising journey,” Robert said, his voice lowering. “Mine certainly has been. I started with a businessarrangement and found myself hopelessly in love within a month.”

Rowan studied the other man’s face, searching for signs of insincerity or exaggeration. He found none.

“You were fortunate,” he said finally.

“Perhaps.” Robert swirled his port. “Or perhaps I simply recognized the value of what was before me before it was too late.”

The drive home passed in silence, the space between them on the carriage seat both too small and too vast. Rowan found himself acutely aware of every movement, every breath Selina took.

When they arrived at their townhouse, she paused in the entrance hall rather than immediately ascending the stairs.

“Will you tell me now what troubled you tonight?” she asked quietly.

Rowan hesitated. The habit of keeping his thoughts private, of maintaining distance, was deeply ingrained. Yet the concern in her eyes seemed genuine, and he found himself unexpectedly weary of solitude.

“Lady Winsley had a… close relationship with my father,” he said finally.

Understanding dawned in Selina’s expression. “She was his mistress.”

“For many years. Even before her husband died.” Rowan removed his gloves with precise movements. “She expected to marry him eventually.”

“But then he died.”

“Yes.”

Selina stepped closer, her hand lifting as if to touch his arm before falling back to her side. “That must have been difficult for you, seeing her tonight.”

“I hardly thought of her,” Rowan lied, unwilling to reveal how Annette’s presence had unsettled him. “It was a long time ago.”

“Still, to be confronted with your father’s indiscretions…”

“My father’s indiscretions were numerous and varied,” Rowan said sharply. “Lady Winsley was merely the most persistent of them.”

Selina fell silent, her expression hurt by his tone. Regret swept through him, but the walls he had constructed around his past rose higher, stronger.

“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “It’s late, and the evening has been long.”

She nodded, the warmth in her eyes dimming. “Of course. Good night, Rowan.”

As she turned to go, he found himself wanting to call her back, to explain that his coldness wasn’t directed at her but at the memories Annette’s presence had stirred. The words stuck in his throat, trapped behind years of practiced reserve.

“Good night, Selina,” he said instead, watching her ascend the stairs alone.

When she had gone, Rowan remained in the entrance hall, haunted by the hurt he had glimpsed in her eyes.

Perhaps the Duke of Emberford was right. Perhaps there was value in what stood before him, if only he had the courage to reach for it.

But first, there were enemies to identify, threats to neutralize. Until then, distance remained safer than the risk of losing someone who might, against all odds, matter more than he had intended.

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